


Purple Patience

by taichara



Category: Langrisser Mobile
Genre: Any tag from any of my other requests, Putting the Pieces Together and Coming to a Completely Wrong Conclusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 11:06:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Some things are hard to explain even before the person asking got an Idea[tm] in their head ...





	Purple Patience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Visardist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visardist/gifts).

"… So what you're saying is you're kind of a zombie."

This was not the conversation Sigma expecting to be having tonight. Not that his day hadn't been strange from beginning to end anyway, what with the summoning to another continent(?) and another time(!?) and suddenly finding himself up to his neck in a conflict he'd never imagined. 

Not to mention the … ah, somewhat different cultural developments. Which were no doubt the cause of Almeda's confusion. Sigma cradled his mug in his hands, stared into the campfire for a few beats to collect his thoughts, and tried again.

"No, I'm not a zombie. El Sallia's zombies seem very different -- Gizarof wasn't a necromancer … He remade me, and I'm grateful, even if I don't remember my life before now. It's hard to explain, when cyberization and human enhancement doesn't seem to be known here …?" 

Judging from the blank look on Almeda's face, not known in the slightest or at least not common knowledge. Maybe that shouldn't be surprising; maybe it only seemed odd because it was all he knew. Perils of memory wipe, and all that. Sigma stared into the fire for a few more beats, the mug of soup in his hands more or less forgotten, his blade a weight against his back that was both reassuring and, just for a moment, a pointed reminder that by some reckonings he'd had more than his chances already --

The sudden _extra_ weight of Almeda's hand on the sword's hilt nearly unbalanced him, he was so startled, and she rocked back with a toss of her head, rosy hair flying. At least he didn't spill anything.

"Sigma, come on. You died, right? You said you were stabbed through the heart."

Well, true. He nodded slightly.

"I was --"

"You died, and some other crazy person collected you and brought you back with weird extra bits and bobs and made changes to you, and you need to carry that thing around or you get unstable or deteriorate or something. Right?"

He eyed Almeda. She stared right back at him.

"Yes …"

"So, you're a zombie, then."

" … "

Clearly there was nothing he could do but sigh into his mug.


End file.
